


Sweater Weather

by Chocchi



Category: Free!
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2014-11-03
Packaged: 2018-02-24 00:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2561993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chocchi/pseuds/Chocchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haru has always been good at craftsy things.<br/>People are always surprised when they find out, which bothers Makoto a little, because what about Haru would make people think he wouldn’t be good making things? Just because he’s so partial to water, and swimming, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any other hobbies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweater Weather

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this like an entire year ago! I am so bad at finishing things, guys, you don't even know.  
> I haven't seen season two yet (although hopefully I will very soon) so I apologize for any inconsistencies that throw people off! I hope you enjoy the fic nonetheless, and as always, I would love any comments or concrit you have for me.  
> A big thank you to my friends Yassy (nagito on AO3) and Tenma for beta-ing this for me!

Makoto forgets what time of year it is until Haru shoves something into Kou’s hands.

Kou almost drops it in surprise, then clutches at it instead. “What-- Haruka-senpai, what’s this?”

“It’s a shawl,” Haru mumbles, looking a little uncomfortable. “It’s. For helping with the team.”

Kou stammers. “I can’t-- I couldn’t possibly-- it must have been expensive--”

“No,” Haru says. “Not really.”

“Eh?” Nagisa wrinkles his nose skeptically and tries to reach for the shawl, which Kou jerks out of the way as though she expects it to fall apart at his touch. Makoto can’t blame her; it really is one of the nicer things Haru has made, all delicate lines and loops of lace. “This is way too nice to be cheap, Haru-chan!”

“Don’t call me that,” Haru mutters, already turning away to head for class. “It didn’t cost much.”

“Just the yarn, right, Haru?” Makoto teases.

“Just the yarn?” Rei repeats, looking lost.

“Well he made it, so,” Makoto says, and suddenly they’re all gaping at him.

“No he didn’t,” Nagisa says. Haru gives him a faintly offended look. “I mean-- Haru-chan, did you really? But it’s so _nice!_ ”

Kou just squeaks, looking all the more blown away. She gathers the shawl to her chest carefully.

“How?” Rei demands.

“Crochet,” Haru says, shifting awkwardly on his feet.

“Th-thank you,” Kou squeaks. “It’s-- very nice! Thank you very much!”

Haru gives her a jerky nod, then grabs Makoto’s sleeve to drag him to class. Makoto looks over his shoulder for an apologetic smile and a “see you later!” to find the others still giving them bewildered stares.

Ah well.

 

Haru has always been good at craftsy things.

People are always surprised when they find out, which bothers Makoto a little, because what about Haru would make people think he wouldn’t be good making things? Just because he’s so partial to water, and swimming, doesn’t mean he doesn’t have any other hobbies. Although-- to be _completely_ fair, the only craftsy thing Haru does during the swimming season is his sketching. Everything else has to wait for a chill to linger in the air and Makoto to convince Haru that _you can’t swim any more, Haru, you’ll make yourself sick again!_

Makoto digresses. He just doesn’t understand why people act so _shocked_.

 

“Is Haruka courting my sister with knitted things?” Rin demands, the second Makoto answers the phone.

“It’s crocheted,” Makoto says, reflexively. He twists around to watch Haru, perched on his bed, working around the small children who keep climbing over him, begging him to help them with their homework and their video game level it’s so _hard_ and will he make them scarves with kittens or froggies on them this winter please? “Haru has made things for _you_ before, Rin! You should know better!”

“It’s my _sister_ ,” Rin insists, although he sounds somewhat mollified already. “Just give me a straight answer, will you?”

Makoto sighs and lowers the phone from his mouth. “Haru, did you make the shawl for Kou because you want to date her?”

Haru makes a face at him.

“He did not,” Makoto tells Rin.

“Thank you,” Rin grumbles, and hangs up.

“Rin,” Haru says, when Makoto puts down the phone and crawls back over to the pile. It’s not even a question.

“Rin,” Makoto confirms. “I think he’s jealous.”

Haru frowns at him.

“He must have outgrown the stuff you made for him when we were kids,” Makoto continues.

“Ah,” Haru says. He goes back to the next row of the striped scarf in his lap.

“Who’s this one for?” Makoto asks, curiously tugging on the end.

“Rei,” Haru says, batting Makoto’s hand away.

“I want one,” Ran cries. She flops down across Haru’s legs dramatically. “Ha-ru-saaaaan, make one for me!”

“Haru made you a scarf last year,” Makoto scolds, trying to pry her away from Haru’s legs. She clings more tightly and sticks her tongue out at him. Haru just huffs out a little laugh. “At least come up with something else.”

“Hats!” Ren cries, tackling Makoto from behind.

“Hats are boring,” Ran argues.

“No, they can be fun,” Ren says. He climbs over Makoto’s shoulders and tumbles into his lap. “Right, nii-san?”

“It’s up to Haru,” Makoto reminds them.

“I can make hats,” Haru says. He finishes his row, chains one, turns. “What does Makoto want?”

“Eh?” Makoto laughs, a little awkwardly. “You don’t have to make me anything, Haru. You’ll have enough to do making stuff for everyone else!”

“He wants you to surprise him,” Ran tells Haru, solemnly.

Haru smirks a little.

Later, after they’ve wrestled the twins into bed and they’re curling up on their respective beds and futons, Makoto says, quietly, “You really don’t have to make me anything, you know.”

“I know,” Haru murmurs.

He doesn’t say _but I want to_ , but Makoto hears the _stop being ridiculous, Makoto_ anyway.

 

By the beginning of November, it’s beginning to get cold, and Haru finishes Rei’s scarf the night before they wake up to frost on the grass.

“Haruka-senpai,” Rei splutters. “You really didn’t have to--”

“Just take it,” Haru mutters, shoulders hunching up defensively. He looks a little embarrassed. Rei himself is looking kind of blindsided, and he’s clutching the scarf to his chest like he expects Haru to try to take it back at any second. “It’s-- yours.”

“What about me?” Nagisa demands. He jostles Haru playfully. “Where’s mine, Haru-chan? Did you not make me one? I’m so hurt!”

“Nagisa,” Haru sighs, but Makoto catches the upward curl of his lips. Haru’s been smiling more, lately, he thinks. He’s glad.

It’s nice.

 

Ren and Ran whine endlessly about how long poor Haru is spending on their hats, but Haru is as steady and patient a craftsman as he always is, and Makoto can hardly find fault with more quiet afternoons curled up next to each other in his room, Haru carefully counting stitches under his breath and leaning into Makoto’s side, Makoto fumbling his way through the next level of the game Ren bet him he couldn’t beat.

He’s died for the umpteenth time when Haru suddenly puts his crochet hook down with a quiet _click_ and smooths out the hat in his lap. Makoto peers over.

“A frog,” he murmurs, and can’t help a smile. “Ran’s, then?”

“Yes,” Haru says. He lifts it up for inspection. It all looks perfect to Makoto, but then, most of Haru’s work looks perfect to Makoto. Makoto just doesn’t have his eye for detail. “But she’ll have to wait for it.”

“They’d both be insufferable if you admitted to finishing her hat before Ren’s,” Makoto agrees. He bumps their shoulders together. “You’re learning, Haru.”

“Mmm,” Haru hums, quietly. He reaches for his bag, and packs his materials and the hat away. Then he climbs back over to shove at Makoto, making grabby hands at the controller. “Give that here, let me do it.”

“Haru! I can do it myself.”

Haru raises an eyebrow at him.

“Eventually,” Makoto amends.

“I’m tired of watching you die,” Haru informs him, gently tugging the controller out of Makoto’s hands. Makoto clucks his tongue, but lets him. Haru curls up beside him again, head resting on Makoto’s shoulder, and Makoto catches himself wistfully thinking that he’d fail _every_ level if it meant Haru would sit with him like this and beat them for him.

(Even if it means Ren comes in later and shouts that it’s _cheating nii-san you can’t have Haru-san beat it for you that doesn’t count!_ )

 

The middle of November brings Ren and Ran’s class music recital, which they’ve been practicing for almost nonstop whenever they’re home. Makoto is proud of them-- they do sound pretty good, for their age, and it’s not like _he_ can play the violin-- but it’s not _that_ big a deal, and it’s not like they’ll never have another recital again, and if they wanted Haru to come this badly they should have invited him _earlier_.

“You can’t invite Haru-chan _now_ ,” their mother scolds, tugging at Ren’s jacket to straighten it. Ran stands sullenly while Makoto struggles through fixing her hair. “We have to leave in ten minutes, it’s too late.”

“Haru-san can get here in ten minutes,” Ran mutters.

“He would need time to change, too, though,” Makoto points out. He finally gets her hair to stay the way it’s supposed to. Their mother gives it a nod of approval. “And it’s not nice to ask people to do things at the last minute and make them feel like they have to rush.”

“But he doesn’t have to rush,” Ren whines. “We’re showing up early for warm-ups, right, he has plenty of time to get changed and meet you guys before it starts!”

“It’s not like Haru-san has _plans_ ,” Ran scoffs.

“ _Tachibana Ran_ ,” their mother scolds.

“Well he doesn’t!”

“He could have plans with Rin,” Makoto tries. The twins stare him down. “He could! Maybe.”

“Invite him,” Ren wheedles.

“Please?” Ran begs.

Makoto looks to their mother warily.

“Oh, _fine_ ,” she sighs. “But you’re not allowed to keep pestering him to come if he says no.”

Haru picks up the phone within the first few rings, which is a good sign, since it means that he’s not only home but probably wasn’t lazing around in the bath.

“Makoto?”

“Haru, hi, sorry, it’s just--”

“Did you just remember the math test tomorrow?”

“N-- the _what?_ ” Makoto demands, horrified, then relaxes when Haru fails to cover a snort of laughter. “Haru! Don’t do that.”

“Sorry,” Haru says.

“No you’re not,” Makoto says. Then, because Haru doesn’t really care about leading up to things, “Ren and Ran want you to come to their music recital.”

"Okay," Haru says.

"Yeah?" Makoto feels himself relax. "It's not inconvenient? I mean, it's okay if you can't, it's just that they're sulking and--"

"I said okay, Makoto," Haru says, with some exasperation. "The elementary school, right?"

"Right."

"I'll see you there."

"See you!"

"Haru-san's coming!" Ren whoops, delightedly, and the last thing Makoto hears before he hangs up is Haru huffing out a laugh.

 

"You're going to work on it _here?_ " Makoto frets, when Haru shows up, because he can either concentrate on the bag of yarn or how nice Haru looks in casual dressy clothes and only one of those is really an option. "But Ren could see it!"

"Calm down," Haru grumbles, slumping down on the bleachers next to Makoto. Makoto's parents beam at him from the row below them. "I'm not working on the hat. Hold this, would you?"

He shoves a pile of paper into Makoto' hands so he can dig through his bag. Makoto fumbles with the papers for a minute before managing to get them sort of straightened out and at least kind of right side up. He squints at the page on top.

"A penguin? Aw, Haru, that's so cute!" Haru makes a face at him. "For Nagisa?"

"Yeah."

"He'll love it," Makoto tells him, enthusiastically. Haru just rolls his eyes at him as the students start trickling in to sit in the orchestra arrangement.

 

Nagisa does indeed love it. He loves it so much he swears he'll sleep with it every night.

"You're sixteen, not six," Kou scolds. Nagisa just clutches the penguin to his chest and sticks his tongue out.

 

Haru practically lives at the Tachibana household during the winter-- he claims it’s because their heating is better, but Makoto is privately suspicious that it’s just a little bit too much for him, to spend the coldest, darkest days of the year alone. So Makoto’s not really surprised when Haru trails after him on the way home, instead of turning off to go to his own house.

“Your hands,” Haru says, suddenly, as they’re on their way up the steps of the porch. Makoto startles a little, then glances down at his hands. They’re red and chapped. Makoto flexes them, to try to gauge how bad it is, but they’re also kind of numb, so it doesn’t help much.

“I know, I know,” he says, ruefully. He unlocks the door and pulls it open for Haru. When they’re both inside, he continues, “I lost my gloves sometime last week, I’m not sure how, I guess I must have just forgotten them somewhere. Maybe at the convenience store….”

“You’ll get frostbite.”

“It’s not _that_ cold,” Makoto says. “They’ll turn up, or I’ll get new ones. It’s okay. I’ll be careful.”

Haru continues to poorly hide his concern. Makoto indulges in a big, gusty, overdramatic sigh, then reaches over to tuck his cold fingers against Haru’s bare neck.

“Makoto!” Haru yelps, writhing away, and Makoto can’t help but burst into laughter.

“Or maybe I shouldn’t get new gloves,” he teases. He laughs again when Haru scowls at him and covers his neck defensively.

Haru doesn’t take out any crocheting that afternoon-- they do their homework, or try, anyway, and then Haru bullies him into a racing game he’s sure to lose. They stay curled up, shoulder to shoulder, in front of the TV until the front door slams open and closed and the twins start hollering when they see Haru’s shoes. Only then does Haru reach for his bag.

“Stay,” he orders, sternly, when Ren and Ran shove their way through Makoto’s doorway. They freeze where they are, bouncing eagerly on the balls of their feet. “Close your eyes, don’t open them until I say you can.”

Their eyes close, obediently, and Makoto _gets_ it when Haru takes two hats out of his bag. He offers one to Makoto-- presumably, as a chance to share in doing the honors-- but Makoto shakes his head, digging through his own backpack for his cellphone so he can take pictures. Haru shrugs.

Ran begins making a high-pitched squealing noise halfway through the process of the hat being pulled on. Ren just shrieks outright, and then no beloved older-brother figure in the universe could make them keep their eyes shut as they grab at their hats, and each other’s hats, and throw themselves at Haru’s legs, hugging and yelling and praising. Haru’s trying so hard to look stern, Makoto can tell, but he just _can’t_ , he likes the twins and he likes making them happy and _he’s happy_ and _smiling_ and--

Makoto gets pictures of it all.

One of the particularly good snapshots may or may not be his new phone background.

 

“What are you going to make for Rin?” Makoto asks, curiously, about a week after Haru has given Ren and Ran their hats.

Haru’s crocheting what looks like a washcloth, and is probably for Makoto’s mother. He gives Makoto a cross look. “Who says I’m making anything for Rin?”

“Right, right,” Makoto says. He pats Haru’s arm placatingly. “I shouldn’t have assumed.”

Haru holds the scowl for the rest of the level, which Makoto manages, for once, to beat on his own. In fact, the scowl stays through most of the next level, as well. Not even Makoto’s ability to breeze through the tricky spots only to trip over the simplest enemies can wrangle a smile from Haru.

Then he just slumps against Makoto’s side.

“You know it’s okay if you don’t make Rin anything,” Makoto says, after a moment.

“I made something for Kou-chan,” Haru says, voice muffled into Makoto’s shoulder. Makoto hears the implied _it would hurt his feelings if I didn’t._

Makoto hums, carefully indifferent.

“I don’t know what to make him,” Haru finally says. “I don’t know what he likes anymore.”

“You can’t go wrong with a scarf,” Makoto suggests. “Everyone likes scarves.”

“What if he hates the colors I choose?”

“How did you know Rei wouldn’t hate the colors you used for his?”

Silence. Haru burrows his face more firmly against Makoto’s shoulder.

“I’m not saying it’s not hard to guess where Rin’s boundaries are, anymore,” Makoto says, slowly. “But I don’t think he’s going to blow us off again if you make him a scarf in a color he doesn’t like.”

“He might,” Haru argues.

“He might,” Makoto agrees, with a sigh. “But I don’t think it’s very likely. You can ask Kou-chan if she knows what he likes, if you want.”

“Hmmph,” Haru says. But he removes his face from Makoto’s shoulder-- Makoto has mixed feelings about this-- and he’s not frowning anymore, so Makoto is going to call it a crisis averted.

 

Haru ends up making Rin a phone cozy.

“What,” Haru mutters, grumpily, when Makoto can’t quite hide his smile. “Scarves take too long.”

“Uh-huh.” Makoto turns the phone cozy, with its little shark design, over in his hands. “I’m not laughing at you, Haru. I think it’s cute.”

“Cute,” Haru echoes, skeptically. He chews on his lower lip, frowning down at the cozy.

“Of course he’ll like it,” Makoto adds.

“We’ll see,” Haru says, but he looks a little relieved.

They send the cozy along with Kou the next time she goes to visit Rin, since they aren’t doing joint practices at the moment. Kou refuses to say a word about it when she comes back, smiling secretively instead; it makes Haru anxious, and frustrated with himself for being anxious, but Makoto forgives Kou when Rin himself comes to visit the next day, harassing Haru but making a point to take his cozy-adorned-phone out whenever he has an excuse.

Haru makes a lot of annoyed noises at him and tries to pretend he’s not pleased. Rin rolls his eyes at Makoto’s proud smile.

 

Their mother finally steals the hats sometime around week two, and washes them while the twins are sleeping. She has them back on their bedside table long before the next morning, but they just _know_ when they wake up.

At first Makoto thinks it’s just their weird little kid abilities letting them perceive when the line has been crossed. But--

“They _smell_ different,” Ran insists. She and Ren are sprawled over Makoto’s legs. It is a horribly indecent time of morning, and they’ve broken into his room to share their grievances. She shoves her hat in his face. “They smelled like Haru before and now they just smell like-- like _clean!_ ”

“Clean isn’t a smell,” Makoto says, automatically, still mostly asleep.

“It _is_ ,” Ren says. “And they _do_. How did this happen, nii-san? Why would you _let_ this happen?”

“I think you’re imagining things,” Makoto says. He certainly hopes _he_ is. Maybe he’ll wake up in another hour or two, when his alarm is supposed to go off, and this will all have been a dream.

“We’re not,” Ren sulks.

“How do we make them smell like Haru again?” Ran demands.

“You-- you don’t?” Makoto says, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “They’re yours now. They’ll smell like you. Why do you want them to smell like Haru?”

The twins just stare him down.

“Go back to bed,” Makoto sighs.

 

Nagisa can’t stop laughing when Makoto tells the team about it, the next day.

“That’s-- that’s kind of weird,” Rei says, doubtfully.

“I think it’s kind of cute,” Kou says, punching Nagisa in the shoulder. He just laughs harder, doubled over and shaking with it.

“Nagisa and the twins should never meet,” Haru says. He’s probably right.

 

That evening, Haru presents their mother with a small pile of new washcloths.

“Haru-chan, you shouldn’t have,” she says, and then she grabs him by the shoulder and refuses to let him go, no matter his half-hearted escape attempts, until she’s given him a long, tight hug. When she finally releases him, she adds, “Next year, you should just teach the twins how to do it for themselves.”

Makoto can’t imagine Ren and Ran sitting still long enough to make a scarf. He tells Haru this, later, while they’re working on their math.

“They beat the last game you got them in a week,” Haru reminds him, without looking up from his homework.

He does have a point.

Sort of.

 

“Remember how I lost my gloves?” Makoto says, one day, on the way to school. It’s rhetorical-- Makoto doesn’t know how anyone believes Haru is hard to read, the way he keeps eyeing Makoto’s fingers whenever they go out into the cold. “My parents keep saying they’ll pick up new ones for me on their way home, but they keep forgetting. I told them I could just get some for myself, but they keep insisting they’ll do it.”

“Weird,” Haru says, but not before his expression flickers, there-and-gone.

“You okay?” Makoto asks.

“Fine,” Haru says. His breath puffs away from him, a little white wisp in the winter air.

“I promise I’m not really _that_ cold,” Makoto assures him. “I mean, not that I don’t want new gloves, but-- you really don’t need to worry about me, Haru.”

“I’m not,” Haru denies, grumpily, and Makoto will let him pretend his pink cheeks are from the cold as long as he lets Makoto laugh, quietly and happily.

 

Haru skips lunch with the team. Kou nominates Makoto to check on him, the first day, but Haru just gets skittish and defensive and won’t meet his eyes. Nagisa doesn’t have much better luck the next day, apparently, and neither does Rei the day after that. They recruit Rin to give it a shot, when he visits, and _that_ nearly ends in a fight.

But the whole time, Haru keeps coming home with Makoto after school. He brushes aside Makoto’s tentative questions, but doesn’t seem unhappy or upset while they’re doing their homework or playing games. Makoto doesn’t know _what_ to think.

Finally, Kou stomps off in the middle of lunch, and comes back twenty minutes later looking completely exasperated.

“He’s _fine_ ,” she says, with the air of someone who is _absolutely_ not compensated enough for the things they put up with. “Totally fine.”

At the end of lunch, when Nagisa and Rei go on ahead, Kou stays behind and just _stares_ at Makoto.

“Kou-chan?” Makoto asks, eventually, a little afraid.

Kou squints at him, mutters, “I can’t believe either _one_ of you,” and finally flounces off after Nagisa and Rei.

 

Two days later, Ren and Ran go snooping through Haru’s bag while he’s using the bathroom. Makoto is in the kitchen, getting everyone juice, so it’s Haru who catches them and Makoto doesn’t actually know what they found.

He just knows they keep looking at him and breaking into giggles, no matter how much Haru scowls at them.

 

“What _is_ Haruka-senpai doing?” Rei tries asking. Haru hasn’t eaten lunch with them in over a week, now.

They all turn to look at Kou.

“Not telling,” Kou says, imperiously.

“I have theories,” Nagisa informs no one in particular. “And I’m totally right, but I can’t share them with Makoto, and Rei-chan won’t make bets with me because he’s boring.”

“Why can’t you share them with me?” Makoto asks, bewildered.

Nagisa smiles smugly.

 

Makoto’s parents still haven’t brought him new gloves.

It’s not like it’s urgent or anything, but _still_.

 

When Haru hasn’t eaten lunch with the team in two weeks, Makoto corners him in the living room and says, “Can we talk?”

Haru freezes midway through pouring himself a cup of tea, and it sloshes dangerously.

“Careful!” Makoto scolds, grabbing at the pot. Haru elbows him out of the way with a sharp scowl.

“I _have_ it,” he says.

“Okay, okay,” Makoto says. “Can we talk, though?”

“Yes,” Haru says. He moves on to pour Makoto’s tea, as well. “Can you just-- wait a minute?”

“Wait a--?” Makoto shakes his head. “Sure. Okay.”

Haru puts the pot down and scrambles out of the room, towards Makoto’s bedroom. Makoto watches him go, fidgeting awkwardly with his cup. He’s just-- _worried_ about Haru, even if Kou says he’s okay. Is he alright? Did they do something to upset him? Did _Makoto_ do something to upset him? That wouldn’t make much sense, since he’s still spending most of his time outside of school at Makoto’s house, but--

Haru comes back with his bookbag, and drops down next to Makoto.

“I,” he starts, then falters, then huffs, stuffs his hand into his bag, and then shoves something at Makoto. “Here.”

Makoto fumbles on-- something soft-- oh they’re-- they’re gloves?

“I asked your parents to keep you from getting new ones until I was done,” Haru mutters. “Sorry.”

“Haru,” Makoto says, at a loss. He rubs his thumb over one of the gloves. It’s tight-knit, but not too stiff-- it’s soft and undoubtedly warm, and Makoto only knows what he’s picked up from Haru, but he thinks that if it’s not better quality yarn, it’s at least some of the best quality yarn _Haru_ has. The fingers are missing their tips, but there’s a kind of flap thing that flips up over them, and how do you even connect something like that when you’re crocheting? “Is this-- because I was talking about how hard it was to turn pages with gloves on? You--”

“You should just read _inside_ ,” Haru blurts out.

“Is this what you’ve been doing at lunch?” Makoto says, feeling a slow smile spread across his face. 

“Mm,” Haru mumbles, noncommittally.

Makoto laughs and reaches over to grab Haru around the shoulders and hug him tightly. “Thank you.”

“Welcome,” Haru says, muffled into Makoto’s neck.

“You worried me,” Makoto admits. The hug has probably gone on for a little longer than is usually acceptable, but he’s just-- it’s _Haru_ , and he just wants another minute, okay? “I thought-- well, I don’t know what I thought.”

“Sorry,” Haru says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Don’t be,” Makoto says. He lets Haru go so he can tug the gloves on, happily. “These are really nice.” Haru makes a face, and starts to open his mouth. “No, they are! Geez, Haru, you don’t give people presents and then tell them their presents suck.”

“I wasn’t going to say that,” Haru says. “Do you-- still need to talk?”

“About how cool these gloves are, maybe,” Makoto says. He wiggles his fingers at Haru. “I like them! How did you figure out how to make them?”

“I looked it up,” Haru grumbles. He scrunches his nose up when Makoto wiggles his fingers closer to Haru’s face. “Stop that.”

“No fun,” Makoto sighs, theatrically. He taps his fingers against Haru’s cheek, quickly and lightly, expecting it when Haru’s hand comes up to bat him away. “Thank you, Haru.”

“You already said that,” Haru says, his cheeks starting to flush just a little bit.

“Well, I don’t care, I’m saying it again,” Makoto says. He pulls the gloves off, and carefully sets them to the side, well away from the tea. “They’re great. _You’re_ great.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Haru says.

“But you love me anyway, right?” Makoto teases. He just expects Haru to roll his eyes, maybe sigh in exasperation, and finish his tea without saying anything. But instead-- Haru looks away and frowns at the table, his cheeks flushing darker yet. “...Haru?”

Haru still won’t look at him. Makoto hesitates, then reaches out to gently shake his shoulder. “Hey, Haru. It’s okay, I was just teasing, you d--”

“What if I did,” Haru says, suddenly, startling Makoto.

“What?”

“What if I did,” Haru repeats, voice trailing off into a mumble. “Love you.”

Makoto pauses. Maybe his jaw goes a little slack.

“Never mind,” Haru says, shoving himself away from the table and going to stand, and whoa, Makoto’s brain is still trying to catch up to everything that just happened.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Makoto catches his wrist before he can go anywhere, then drags him back down. Haru tries to squirm away from him again, but Makoto has two little siblings, dammit, and he is intimately acquainted with manhandling people who refuse to _stay still_. “Come on, Haru, you can’t just drop something like that on me and then run away!”

“Never _mind_ ,” Haru says, crossly, still not meeting his eyes. “Pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“Never,” Makoto says. He uses the grip he still has on Haruka’s wrist to pull him closer, almost into Makoto’s lap. “Do you really? Love me, I mean?”

“Let me go,” says Haru.

“Not until you look at me,” Makoto says, ducking his head to try to catch Haru’s glance. Haru jerks his head up, stubbornly, and glares over Makoto’s shoulder. “Aw, Haru….”

“Pretend I didn’t say anything,” Haru says again, and oh, Makoto’s heart is breaking right along with Haru’s voice when he says, “Please, Makoto.”

“Hey,” Makoto says, lowering his voice. “Haru. It’s okay. Calm down.”

“I don’t need to calm down,” Haru snaps.

“Come here,” Makoto says. Finally, Haru allows himself to be pulled forward and tucked against Makoto’s side, Makoto’s arm wrapped tightly around his shoulders. “There you go. It’s okay.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Haru mutters, the bite of it lost to the way Makoto’s shirt is muffling everything he says. There’s a defeated slump to his shoulders. Makoto’s not sure he’s ever wanted anything as much as he wants it to go away.

“I’m not patronizing you,” Makoto says. “Honestly, Haru, did you think I was going to be upset or something?”

Haru shrugs.

“You’re not very perceptive,” Makoto says, affectionately. Haru makes a noise of indignation. “What? I wasn’t exactly subtle, Haru, _Ren and Ran_ could tell I was in love with you.”

Haru stills against him. “...You are?”

“I can’t believe you,” Makoto says, but Haru is already shoving out from under his arm to stare up at him, eyes wide and mouth hanging slightly open. “I was really, really obvious! I thought you _knew._ ”

“You--” Haru makes a noise that’s half-choke, half-laugh. “ _I--_ that’s why--”

“That’s why what?” Makoto demands, reaching out to tug Haru into his lap.

“The twins, they-- they said they’d beat me up if I hurt you,” Haru says, looking shell-shocked.

Makoto laughs and wraps his arms around Haru’s back. Haru settles easily, straddling Makoto’s thighs and clutching at his shoulders.

“You really--?” Haru starts.

“ _Yes_ ,” Makoto says, squeezing Haru happily. “You should have told me before. If you knew before, that is.”

Haru squints at him suspiciously. “How long?”

“I don’t _know_ , Haru,” Makoto groans. He really doesn’t. It feels like he’s always loved Haru, and now he can do it openly and Haru loves him back and said it _first_ and this is like something straight out of his dreams, he hardly knows what to do with himself. “Forever, probably.”

Haru makes a face that implies he thinks that’s a cop-out answer, although Makoto doesn’t have a better one to offer him. Then he leans forward, hesitantly. “Can I--”

“Yes, _please_ ,” Makoto says, and leans in to meet him halfway.

Haru’s lips are half-chapped-- they would probably be softer if he’d actually drunk any of his tea, but Makoto is happy to let the tea sit to the side while they fumble through chaste, awkward kisses. They bump noses a lot until Haru grabs Makoto’s face and forces him to hold still until he figures out a better angle; Makoto makes a pleased noise, and presses up into it as much as Haru will let him. Haru’s hands slide down from his face to rest on his shoulders and curl into his shirt. Makoto thinks he could probably die like this and be content.

Haru pulls back a little, tongue poking out to wet his lips as he stares at Makoto, still looking a bit disbelieving. Makoto lets him look, rubbing his hands gently up and down Haru’s back. Haru gradually relaxes forward, inch by inch, until his forehead is tucked up against the juncture of Makoto’s neck and shoulder and Makoto very nearly has a mouthful of his hair.

After a while, Haru says, quietly, “Tea’ll go cold.”

“It’s probably already cold,” Makoto replies. He takes one hand off Haru’s back to pick a cup up (he’s not sure whether it was his or Haru’s, originally, but at this point it doesn’t really matter) and sip experimentally. He makes a face and puts it down. “Yep, it is.”

Haru makes a little grumbly noise against his neck.

“It’s not the end of the world if we waste one pot of tea,” Makoto says, reasonably, trailing his hand around to smooth down Haru’s back again. “You okay?”

“Mmm.”

“Use your words, please.”

“No,” Haru says.

“Too late, that counted,” Makoto says, and Haru huffs out a laugh.

“‘M fine,” he says. “Just-- tired. I don’t-- like keeping secrets from you.”

“Yeah?” Makoto stills his hands.

“Yeah,” Haru says. “And-- missed you. At lunch.”

“Aw, Haru,” Makoto nudges and twists until he can press a soft, fond kiss to the top of Haru’s head. “We missed you, too.”

“Mmm,” Haru murmurs, again. He snuggles closer. Makoto resumes rubbing his back.

“Need a nap?” he teases.

“We have homework,” Haru says.

“You’re choosing _today_ as your day to be a responsible student?” Makoto says. Maybe whines. Just a little. Makoto can’t see his face, but he can practically _feel_ Haru rolling his eyes.

“What’s in this for you?”

“Cuddling?” Makoto suggests, hopefully.

“Opportunist,” Haru says, more amused than accusatory.

“That’s me,” Makoto agrees. Haru yawns into his shoulder. “You really do need a nap, don’t you?”

“Shut up.”

“Never,” Makoto says. He climbs to his feet, dragging Haru with him as he goes. “Come on, just an hour or so. We can set an alarm and everything.”

“ _You’re_ the one who wants a nap,” Haru mutters, but he’s leaning heavily into Makoto’s side, and he doesn’t complain any more when Makoto hauls him to the bedroom to flop down on Makoto’s bed, so Makoto doesn’t think he’s projecting _that_ much.

 

Makoto may or may not accidentally turn off the alarm in his sleep, and they may or may not be woken by Ren and Ran barging into the room three hours later, but-- well. It was an accident.

Ren and Ran go pounding out of the room again hollering to their mother that _nii-san and Haru-san are finally doing date-y things!_ and Makoto’s mother comes into the doorway to stare them down before Makoto has time to wrestle a sleepy Haru away from him.

“Oh,” she says, relaxing. “I was afraid they meant something much more-- _serious_.”

“ _Mom_ ,” Makoto whines, mortified. Haru is still blinking sleepily, with half a confused frown on his face.

“Make sure you take Haru-chan somewhere nice for Christmas eve,” she says, cheerfully, and shuts the door behind herself when she leaves.

 

“FINALLY,” Kou yells, throwing her arms in the air triumphantly, when Haru and Makoto come to lunch on the roof holding hands the next day. Nagisa cheers and whistles and jostles Haru’s shoulder until Haru shoves him away, trying and failing to look annoyed.

“Congratulations,” Rei says, only a little awkwardly.

“Thank you,” Makoto says. Then, “Haru! Don’t push him _that_ hard.”

“He deserved it,” Haru says, indignantly, as Nagisa staggers back in feigned agony.

“Man down!” he cries, falling to his knees.

“Get _up_ ,” Kou sighs. “Oh-- I like your gloves, Makoto-senpai. Haruka-senpai did a good job on them.”

 

Haru doesn’t want to go anywhere but the ocean for Christmas eve, so they take a picnic after Makoto’s gotten him to swear up and down that they’ll stay on the beach and there won’t be any swimming. They pack a nice lunch and an old blanket that they can lay out over the sand, and there’s a cold breeze, but the weather is nice enough for winter. It would go without a hitch except Makoto slips up and tells the rest of the swim team about their plans.

“Beginner’s mistake,” Rin tells him, without much sympathy, as they lean back on their hands and watch Nagisa try to convince Haru and Rei to make a sand castle with him. They’re going to regret it later if they get cold, damp sand in their clothes. 

“I know, I know,” Makoto says. “It’s not so bad, though.”

“We’re eating all your food and stealing your time with your boyfriend,” Rin says.

That’s basically what lunch is like every day at school, Makoto thinks. Kou is chasing Nagisa down the shoreline over some slip in tact now.

“I’m happy for you,” Rin offers, suddenly.

“Yeah?” Makoto says, a little startled.

“Yeah,” Rin says, staring resolutely out over the ocean. “You’re good for each other.”

Makoto makes sure Haru’s attention is still on his conversation with Rei before he says, quietly, “I thought you liked him too, you know?”

“I know,” Rin grumbles.

“You don’t, though?”

“I might’ve, once,” Rin says. He looks irritated with the turn the conversation has taken. “Things are different now.”

“Okay,” Makoto says, carefully.

“I’d say you better take care of him or something dumb like that,” Rin says, “But you’ve been doing that all along, haven’t you?”

“Well…” Makoto glances sidelong at Haru. “...I guess I do my best.”

“You do pretty well,” Rin says, then evidently decides he’s done talking about feelings for the day and dives across the blanket to tackle Haru into the sand.

Later, when they’re walking home, Makoto says, tentatively, “That was a good date, yeah?”

“Yes,” Haru says, and Makoto feels something in his chest ease up in relief. “Would’ve been better if you hadn’t brought your kids.”

“ _Ha_ ru,” Makoto laughs. Haru squeezes his hand and hides his own smile in the collar of his coat.

 

“You made something for everyone but yourself, Haru.”

“Don’t fuss,” Haru mutters, from across the room. Makoto can’t believe he hasn’t realized until this late into the winter that Haru doesn’t have his own scarf. “I’m fine.”

“I don’t know whether it’d be worse to assume you honestly don’t have your own scarf,” Makoto says, digging through his closet for an extra, “Or that you might have one and you just don’t bother with it.”

“You’re fussing.”

“Of course I’m fussing, you’ll get sick!”

“No I won’t,” Haru says, and before Makoto can explain for the hundredth time that _you can’t stop yourself from catching a cold through sheer willpower, that’s not how it works_ , he follows it up with, “You’ll keep me warm.”

Makoto pauses and glances over his shoulder. Haru looks back, cheeks red but gaze steady.

“Will I?” Makoto asks, slowly easing himself to his feet again and meandering back over to Haru.

“Yes,” Haru says, tilting his chin up defiantly.

“Why would I do that?” Makoto murmurs. He gently takes Haru’s hands into his.

“I don’t know,” Haru says, more honestly than Makoto would like. “But won’t you?”

“Yeah,” Makoto says. “I will.”

Later, when they’re at the shrine making their wishes for the new year, Makoto glances between his scarf looped around Haru’s neck and Haru’s gloves on his own hands and smiles, soft and content, to himself.

It’s only fair that he keep Haru warm. Haru keeps him warm, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Unused title ideas include "da vinci probably ships makoharu", "extreme hardcore crocheting: volume II makoharu edition", "crochet yes", and "crochet you love me", because my friends are very helpful and creative and serious individuals


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